I watch him as much as I watch the show. I love the way those green eyes dance when he’s engaged. They dim so quickly when he makes himself small.
There’s a knock at the door.
“Why don’t you go let them in,” I say, knowing he’ll enjoy it much more than I will.
He jumps up and scurries over, light with glee as he beckons the hotel employee in. He nods eagerly at the explanation of which dish is which then thanks the person profusely as they leave.
He perches on the edge of the bed, staring at the silver covers.
“Go on,” I say, with a tilt of my chin.
Jamie removes one of the covers like the Crown Jewels are underneath it.
“Oh, that smellsamazing.”
“Of course it does,” I say with a chuckle, but as I dig into my fish, I have to admit, it tastes better with Jamie’s wonder as a pairing.
I remember my instant-noodle days, but I was raised on fine cuisine. Hiring a private chef was a return to my birthright. To Jamie, it’s a whole new world.
I like that I can share these things with him. That I can leave some lasting impact on his life—even if it’s ruining him for Target and Olive Garden or wherever it is ‘normal’ people eat these days.
There’s something intimate about sitting on the bed to eat with him. Intimate and dangerous.
I like my flings short and intense. But I can tell Jamie’s not that kind of person. Giving in would only hurt him, and… for some reason, I care.
But god, is it hard. I know exactly what I’d do. Order a chocolate dessert. Ply him with another glass of rosé. Reachover, gently turn his chin up towards me. He’d melt in my arms.
He’d be utterly mine, for as long as I want. For the day, the week, the month.
If he were a beta, I’d have already done it.
But he’s an omega. And PR aside, it would be all too easy to do something that would be permanent for him.
It’s my job to keep him safe. And that includes from me.
So I settle back and ask questions I can already guess the answers to about the home wreck show. Jamie’s happy to oblige.
The next episode starts. I finish another glass of wine, finish dinner, and ask a question I can’t guess the answer to. I never do that.
“What city is this one in? That house costs less than my car.”
He quirks a brow, a light smile on his lips, but answers simply. “Indianapolis, I’m pretty sure. Or Detroit? I always confuse it with one of the other shows...”
I ask more questions, and Jamie continues to answer them in good faith. It wouldn’t even occur to him to make someone feel foolish.
I relax in a way I haven’t relaxed in a very long time. Maybe ever.
Confidence is familiar to me. There’s a calm in being at the eye of the storm, assured I’ve laid every domino to my liking.
But this is different. This is… contentment.
Jamie chuckles at a stupid pun from the show’s host. Fuck, his laugh is cute.
We take turns in the single bathroom. I take another extra dose of suppressants, this time from a fresh batch I had Eileen pick up for me.
I check my email—I was distracted enough I didn’t see the reply from Arthur come in.
The new test results. I compare them to the old, and theslight variance is within instrument precision. I don’t like that. It means we’re not testing the right things.
